I’m at Camp…
Man, I got really into this thing for a while and then I just let it drop. How do I manage to flake so hard on things?
I’m off to camp tomorrow. I’ve arranged to do “Pre-camp” which is essentially scrubbing out camper bunks and showing parents around. I’m hosting a tour on Sunday, which should be hysterical given I remember rare to nothing about the camp- other than it being absolute heaven and holy shit I can’t wait for the kids to get there.
This summer I think I’m scheduled to teach improv, sketch as well as a few stand-up work shops. I had all these awesome ideas for workshops which escape me now. I’m acutally freakin’ a bit. I’ve avoided ”the comedy scene” for such a length of time now- I don’t know if I remember how this shit works. And kids can terify me a little- they seem so fragile and maliable, and then there’s one or three that jump out at you with some old school Woody Allen styled theoretical and it’s like KABLAM! Who’s the teacher now bitch!
I shouldn’t freak. I’m gonna have a great time. Jesus what those tweens will do for an abused comedians ego. Unconditional love all around. and bug spray.
Just found out my comedy partner’s wife is having a baby. And I started birth control last month. And I’m peeking at the dawn of a position where I have to be a parent to somebody else’s children.
Awesome.
I’m gonna get me a diary and let my uterus do the writing.
I’m going crazy. And I FUCKING HATE PACKING.
Here are some items I’m bringing that make me laugh:
-Polaroid camera (for auditions… )
- DVD of ‘Sleep Away Camp’
-Gumby Doll
- Betty Comics (fuck off)
-Nappy Bear
- one pair baby blue Converse; one pair all black.
- Pink T-shirt that reads “I love going to the mall, having slumber parties, talking about boys. BEING WITH MY FRIENDS.” (Sam bought this for me at WalMart last summer).
Once I go, I know I’m not going to want to come back.
Have an awesome summer, damn it.
